I Let the Music Speak
by H20loo
Summary: An attempt to try my hand at song-fic, and I would think that if you like my other stuff, you will like this. It also contains a opening scene set in the Visitors Universe so I can bait-and-switch people into reading. :P


A/N: So here is one of the one-shots I promised. Just a little note: the front and ending bumpers are set in the Visitors universe, but the two stories are completely separate from it. And, while these stories are not strictly Kigo, I ask that you remember who is writing this story. I can't say more for fear of spoiling my own stories, but yeah, remember who you are dealing with. Anyhoo, I apologize for the long break, but I had writer's block something fierce. I sincerely hope that it's over with.

**I Let the Music Speak – An Attempt at Two Songfics**

The doorbell rang, and Kim glanced upstairs, hopeful that Shego would hear it and come answer the door. No wife was forthcoming, however, so Kim sighed, hoisted her unwieldy self off of the couch and waddled to the front door. She wouldn't admit this to anybody, but she was somewhat grateful that this would be the one and only time she would be pregnant. It had already been decided that when this baby was born, their family would be complete, and with their oldest already a bundle of energy at almost two years old, it was probably a good thing.

Kim opened the door and smiled when she saw two very familiar faces standing there. "Hey Monique," she said before looking down. "And how's my favorite nephew?" she asked a beaming Ernie who stood holding his mother's hand. Ernie, his toddler vocabulary still a little shaky, didn't answer, but he did let go of the hand he was holding and wrapped Kim's legs, the only part of her he could reach, in a hug. Kim chuckled and ruffled his hair. She would have liked to bend down and hug him back, but with her current condition, that just wasn't happening. "So what brings you by?" she asked Monique as Ernie detached himself and grabbed her hand as she came back into the living room.

"He wanted to come and play with Annie," Monique answered, sitting down in one of the recliners. "And I figured that you guys might be busy, so I came to steal her away."

"She's 'painting' the new nursery with her Mama today," Kim replied, putting the "painting" in quotes with a wry smile. "So I don't think Shego will want to let her go. But, do I know that they could always use another helper." She hesitated, tempted to climb the stairs to get Shego, but then thought better of it and just used the in-house intercom. "Shego!" she bellowed at the top of her lungs. "Come down here for a second!"

Monique's eyes widened at the volume, but she chuckled when it worked and Shego appeared at the top of the stairs with a redheaded limpet named Miriam-Anne attached to her back. "What's up, Princess?" she asked as she and the toddler better known as Annie descended the stairs. Annie saw Ernie and squealed, wiggling until her mama put her down. "All right, Piggly-Wiggly," Shego said wryly. "Yes, I see why Mommy called us down now, too. Give me some time to put you down." She lifted Annie over head and put her on the carpet. Annie immediately toddled over to Ernie and dragged him off toward the downstairs toy box.

"I didn't bring him over here so that you guys could watch him," Monique protested. "I was going to steal Annie and take them over to my house."

"Eh, he's all right. He can help us paint," Shego said, echoing Kim's earlier words. "Can't ya, big guy?" she asked Ernie, sweeping him up off the floor and swinging him around. He giggled and Annie squawked, a little put out by being left out of the swinging fun. Shego secured Ernie in the crook of her left arm and used her right to swing Annie up. Annie giggled and she smiled at them both before she bounded back up the stairs with both kids holding on to her and laughing.

Monique watched her son disappear and then looked at Kim. "So, how do you get paint out of hair?" she asked sardonically.

Kim laughed. "It's a water-based paint," she promised. "Coffee?" she offered.

"Sure," Monique answered.

"It'll have to be decaf," Kim said, patting her baby bump.

"Yes, it does; I'm so sorry," Monique joked. Kim laughed and they went into the kitchen.

Shego gently set both kids on the floor in the new nursery and quickly ran to the room next door to grab the upstairs toy box. She set it down between them, and they both started to rifle through it. "Good, you guys are occupied," she stated, putting up child-proof gates around them to prevent them from playing with the paint. After placing another gate at the door just in case, she went over to the shelf and turned on the iPop, smiling when the first song came on. Annie liked this song. Dipping her roller into the paint, she began to work.

_**Copacabana**_

_Her name was Lola; she was a showgirl…_

Special Agent Possible kept repeating those words from the mission dossier in her head as finished applying overly-dramatic makeup to her face. She wasn't used to wearing this much, but her assignment was her assignment, so the eye shadow brush didn't get put away until there were dramatic half-circles over her eyes. The stage manager came in and gave them all the five-minute warning, so Joss made sure that the yellow feathers in her dark brown hair were all adjusted properly. She adjusted the shoulders on her matching yellow low-cut sequined gown, and stood up, causing the fabric to drape and cling exactly where it was supposed to. Satisfied, she gathered with the other girls and waited for the signal to take the stage.

While she waited, she scanned the crowd, noting the presence of several prominent mobsters. That's why she was here; the Copacabana – once a speakeasy during Prohibition, now a "respectable" club – was a notorious hangout for gangsters, and it was not a very well-kept secret that one of New York's most prominent Mafia families used it as a front for laundering the money made in their illegal activities. Her mission was to infiltrate the Copa, gather enough evidence to prove that it was a front, and then shut the place down. The first part was done; after two months, she had been accepted by the girls and the management, as had her partner Don, who masquerading as "Tony", had become the club's bartender.

She glanced over at Don, who in typical Don fashion was good-naturedly serving drinks to all of the paying customers. She smiled, knowing his goofy affability wasn't an affectation. Don was really like that and his being an FBI agent did nothing to change his natural personality. She should really take him up on his proposal, she mused as the showgirls waited. Everybody here, heck everyone at the Bureau, thought they were the perfect couple and destined to be married. But, Joss kept putting him off for two good reasons; one, she would only be accepting him because he was her best friend and not because she wanted to be his wife, and two, there was someone else in her life, someone unacceptable, and Joss had to deal with that situation before she could agree to marry anyone.

The stage manager gave the signal, and the girls danced out on to the stage. The dances they did varied; sometimes couple dances like the Merengue and the Cha-Cha, which allowed for audience participation after the show was over, were preferred, but tonight, it was a choreographed routine with only the showgirls. Joss went through her steps with an easy grace, and it was this dancing ability that had moved her from the back to the front in the time she had been there. That had been fortuitous, because she could now surreptitiously watch the club as she was dancing, and tonight, she watched as someone was escorted to his chair. Her heart stopped in panic, but thankfully her feet kept on going as the late arrival sat down.

_His name was Rico; he wore a diamond…_

Rico adjusted his diamond pinky rings, not unintentionally drawing attention to them as he was seated. He could hear the whispers start almost as soon as he was in chair and he smiled. It was always nice when one's reputation preceded him, and Rico had worked hard to build up his reputation. When he had first come to New York from his home territory of Chicago, no one would take him seriously because of his petite build and effete features, and had even given him the derogatory nickname of Doll-Faced Rico. After he had killed every man that had dared called him that to his face, opinions had been revised, the nickname had been dropped, and now he was one of the most feared enforcers in New York. Most figured it was only a matter of time before he rose to the upper ranks of his Family. Rico smirked as he undid the top button of the collar of his light green shirt and loosened his trademark green-and-black checked tie, daring the members of the rival Family that owned this place to do something to him. No challenge was offered, though, so Rico turned some of his attention to the show.

He scanned the line of beautiful girls and his smirk grew into a frown when he saw Joss. So that's where his gorgeous little busybody FBI nemesis had been these last few months. He flagged down a waiter to order a drink and get some information. "Whiskey," he said curtly. The waiter nodded nervously and hastened to leave, but Rico put a hand out to stop him. "Who's the pretty doll in yellow in the front?" he asked.

The waiter quickly and timidly looked at the stage. "That's Lola," he answered.

Rico chuckled. "Lola, huh?" he reiterated. The waiter nodded, his desire to leave still very strong. "And how long has 'Lola' been working here?" he asked.

"About two months," the waiter replied, hoping that was all.

It was. "Get lost," Rico said shortly, shooing him away with a short wave of his hand. The waiter gratefully left, got Don to pour the drink and brought it back, setting it down on the table and hurriedly leaving before Rico could ask him anything else. Rico sipped his drink as the dancing continued, enjoying himself thoroughly on many levels. Beautiful women dancing were always appreciated, as was good whiskey and the Feds investigating his Family's biggest rival. He continued to watch Joss, appreciating both the yellow fabric clinging to her curves and the moxie that allowed a Fed to dance in a den of mobsters. The number ended, and Rico snapped his fingers, causing his waiter to hurry back over. "I want to talk to Lola," he ordered and the waiter nodded tentatively before disappearing backstage.

As soon as she and her fellow showgirls left the stage, Joss made a break for the bar. Rico knew who she really was, he was probably carrying a grudge over what had happened a few months back and if he squealed out of spite, she and Don were dead. She had to get Don and get them both out of here as quickly as possible. She was in such a hurry that she neglected to see Nathan coming through the door she was barreling through and she ran smack into him.

"Lola!" he said, after he picked her up off the floor. "Thank god. Listen, Rico the Ripper is out there and he wants to talk to you."

Joss looked at him for a few moments and realized that there was only one thing she could do. "Don't worry about it, Nate," she said, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll go out there and talk to him." She dusted herself off, straightened her costume and went through the door, going straight to Rico's table.

Rico looked up and promptly got up, as courtesy demanded. He pulled out a chair for Joss and she sat. After pushing her chair in, Rico did the same. "Hello…Lola," he said with a smirk.

"Cut the crap, Rico," Joss ordered crossly, not wanting to play the game. "What do you want?"

"You, of course," he said, his green eyes suddenly losing their amused sparkle to take on a sensuous smolder. "That's all I've ever wanted, and when I thought I finally had you, you disappeared on me."

Joss blushed, partly in embarrassment and partly in shame. "You know who I work for, Freddie," she said softly, her use of the nickname she had given him betraying her attempts to remain unaffected by his completely unexpected statement. "They gave me a new assignment and I had to disappear."

"I figured," Rico replied. "Doesn't mean I was totally okay with it." He paused and then asked a question that he had wanted to for a while. "Did you want to leave?" he asked.

"No," Joss admitted truthfully. "But I had to, for so many reasons."

"So you still love me?" Rico asked, his voice accusing.

"With all my heart, even as my brain tells me how stupid I'm being," Joss said resignedly. She sighed and spoke before Rico could. "But, I still can't be with you, Freddie," she said. "I've worked my whole life to get here and I love my work. It's a big part of who I am, and I can't give it up to be some gangster's moll."

"I know," Rico answered quietly. "That's why I didn't hunt you down and kill you when I woke up in your bed alone."

Joss blushed but then looked at him sharply. "Then you aren't here for me?" she asked.

"No, I was just here to watch the show," Rico lied. Joss' eyebrow rose and Rico fidgeted. "All right, I wasn't here for the show. I was here to off someone else," he admitted. "But then I saw you and nothing else mattered."

Joss looked at him and tenderly touched his cheek. "I'm sorry, Freddie," she apologized. "But I just can't." She let her fingers trail along his cheek before letting them drop to the table. She took a deep breath, gathered herself and rose. Rico did the same and Joss turned to leave, but Rico caught her hand.

"I'm not going to let you leave, Jocelyn," he said, this time loudly enough for everyone in the club to hear and the place fell silent.

From his place at the bar, Don sprung into action. He had remained steady as Rico and Joss had talked, even as their obviously romantic interactions piercingly broke his heart in two. But now Joss was in trouble and he needed to help her. He did a handspring and sailed across the bar, storming across the floor to Rico's table. Without thinking, he tackled Rico to the floor, forcing him to let go of Joss' hand. He got a couple of good punches in before Rico threw him off and they both jumped to their feet and squared off. "Leave her alone," Don warned through gritted teeth. "She doesn't want to be with you anymore," he said more loudly, hoping to convince the gathering crowd that this was just a lovers' quarrel. "She even changed her name to get away from you," he added.

For all his genuine anger at Don and the situation, Rico didn't really want to get either of the FBI agents killed, so he played along. "She didn't want to get away from me," he snarled. "She told me that. You and those fucking people who control you took her away from me." He threw a right cross at Don and it connected, causing Don to stagger backwards. He recovered and attacked Rico and soon punches were flying and chairs were being smashed in two over people's heads. Finally, Rico got the upper hand and knocked Don to the floor. Before Don could get up, Rico pulled out his gun and pointed it right at Don's head. "You will stay where you are," he ordered, "and I am going to leave." He grabbed Joss' hand. "And you are coming with me, at least for now. We need to talk more," he told her. He started walking toward the door, his iron grip on Joss' hand forcing her to come with him.

Don waited until his back was turned and then leapt up, intent on giving chase and subduing him. Rico could sense him coming, so he dropped Joss' hand and turned to face him. Don went straight for the gun, trying to wrest it from his grip, but Rico was stronger and Don could not get it away from him. The gun's muzzle pointed every which way as they wrestled with it, and it suddenly went off. Don reeled backwards as blood started to seep and then gush rapidly from the hole in his chest. He fell and Joss rushed over to him. Rico paused momentarily, then put his gun away and dashed out the back exit that led into the alley.

Joss knew she had to follow and arrest him, but Don was dying on the floor and she had to attend to him first. "Nate!" she yelled, seeing him in the crowd. "Call an ambulance!" Nate rushed over to the phone behind the bar and frantically dialed the operator. Joss turned her attention back to Don, putting what pressure she could on the wound to try to staunch the bleeding. It didn't really help, and the wound continued to gush. She started to panic, but then calmed herself, knowing it wouldn't do either of them any good. Seeing Don's eyes start to roll back into his head, she gently shook him. "Stay with me," she pleaded. "Please, please stay with me."

He looked at her and smiled, slowly shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Joss," he said hoarsely. "I just don't think I can." His eyes unfocused and he took a shallow rattling breath before his chest stopped moving completely.

Joss bowed her head and the tears started slipping down her cheeks. She closed his eyes and gently turned him over, exposing the gun that she knew he carried in holster in the small of his back. She took it, cocked it and then turned him gently back over. "Stay with him," she ordered the nearest person. "Wait here and make sure that the ambulance gets him." She rose, kicked off her dancing shoes and stormed out of the back exit.

She didn't get far when she heard a quiet voice come from one of the alley's tributaries. "I'm over here, Joss," Rico said softly, stepping from the shadows.

"How could you!" Joss demanded as she lifted her gun and came towards him. "How could you shoot him? He wasn't going to hurt you."

"Says you," Rico retorted, but still showed his hands. "He had every right to hate me and if he got my gun, he had every reason to shoot me."

"But if I had asked him not to, he wouldn't have shot you," Joss said, her gun still trained on Rico. "You didn't have to kill him."

"I didn't mean to kill him," Rico protested. "I was trying to get you both out of there before you both got killed." He looked at Joss and she saw the anguish in his eyes. "I know what he meant to you, Joss. I would never purposely take something away from you that you loved as much as you loved him," he swore.

Joss knew that he was telling the truth, and slowly the gun started to lower. Rico grew bolder and came closer, and when the gun remained pointed at the ground, he grabbed Joss and held her. She struggled briefly, but then gave in and started sobbing on his shoulder. He let her cry, and finally, after a few minutes, the tears stopped and Joss looked up. "I know it was an accident," she said, "but I'm still going to have to arrest you for murder."

"I would expect nothing less from you," Rico said, kissing her forehead. "But we both know I can't let you do that. I can't go to jail, Jocelyn, and you know why."

Joss shivered at the sound of her full name from those lips. "I do know why, but maybe we could arrange something," Joss offered, grasping at straws.

"Like what?" Rico prompted. When Joss hesitated, he continued. "You can't arrange anything Joss; if you try to help me, it will give us a connection and they will find out about our relationship. And if they find out that we were lovers, you're going to get kicked out of the Bureau. Hoover doesn't allow sexual deviants in his FBI."

"Only himself," Joss mumbled. "You're right," she said at last. "I have to let you go."

"You can't do that either, Joss," Rico pointed out. "If you let me go, your career goes right with me."

"Then what do you suggest I do?" Joss snapped.

"You have to come away with me," Rico replied. "It's the only way to keep both of our secrets."

Joss was very tempted by the offer, but she knew that it just couldn't happen. There would be no safe place for her and Freddie no matter where they went, and at least here, she could still do some good until the Bureau kicked her out. She let go of Rico and backed off, heading back towards the club. "You had better get out of here, Freddie," she warned him. "The police and the FBI will be here soon."

Rico watched her turn before reaching out and catching her arm. "Like I told you in the club, I'm not going to let you leave, Jocelyn," he told her, using her arm to pull her back to him. Joss put up her hands in an attempt to push him away, but the feel of Freddie's soft breasts so carefully concealed under her suit coat undid Joss and she melted into the kiss that she had been pulled into. No, she told herself even as their kiss grew deeper and more passionate and her hands continued to clutch for that warm, soft flesh. Finally, she got control of herself and broke the kiss, but Freddie's strong arms kept Joss where she was. "Please, Jocelyn, please come with me," Freddie implored, her voice husky.

Joss gathered up her willpower and with one determined shove, separated herself from Freddie. "You have to go now, Freddie," she repeated, turning and walking towards the door. "_Ti amo, Frederica_," she said sadly, opening the door without looking back.

Rico, her emotions unreadable, stood watching as the door opened. "Hey Fed," she called unexpectedly, causing Joss to turn around. Without warning, she drew her gun and shot Joss in the left thigh, causing Joss to crash to the ground. "I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me," Rico said coldly. "Now I got away fair and square." She turned and jogged back down the alley, disappearing just as the back door opened and the police found Joss on the alley floor.

_But that was thirty years ago, when they used to have a show…_

Joss motioned the bartender to give her another round. She was only about halfway to her preferred half-blind drunk status, and she needed to keep working at it. The place hadn't changed much, she mused. She hadn't been in the Copa since the night she and Don had been shot, and she had never planned on coming back, either, but she had received an invitation for the Halloween bash from Nate, and to please one of her oldest friends, she had decided to come to what was now a disco. The costume part of it she could have lived without, but Nate had been insistent, so in flash of macabre humor, she had dressed up as a showgirl, complete with the yellow feathers in her hair. The dress was a replica; the original had a hole through the thigh, had been soaked with both her and Don's blood and for good measure had been confiscated by the FBI evidence department thirty years ago, so it wasn't exactly in party condition or even available.

She sighed as she took another swig of her whiskey, already regretting this little jaunt down memory lane. A voice behind her startled her. "Would you please try not to be a bitter old alcoholic for one night?" Nate beseeched as he adjusted his Farrah wig.

"_You_ know what I am and _you_ invited me to the place that made me an alcoholic," Joss reminded him.

"Well, where else am I supposed to invite you, sweetie? This is the only disco I own," Nate replied. "And I wanted to give you a surprise. You know I wouldn't have invited you if I wasn't hoping that maybe all of that had been long enough ago for you to be okay. " he said, his voice soft and apologetic.

"I don't think it will ever be long enough ago," Joss said quietly before changing the subject. "So, what gives you the right to look that good as Farrah? You're my age, for christssake," she said in mock-disgust.

"Liar," Nate retorted quickly, grateful for the subject change.

"I am not," Joss shot back.

Nate stuck out his tongue, but gathered her up in a hug. "There are lots of beautiful women here tonight. Please, go celebrate the fact that you have lived long enough to be able to dance with them in public," he begged.

Joss picked up her cane and rapped him softly in the head with it. "You _know_ I can't dance, Nate. Rico's gunshot, the ensuing infection and the crippling arthritis took care of that," she stated.

"Fine, be your old, cranky self," Nate harrumphed as he let her go. "But, I wouldn't get too comfy. You never know when Farrah or someone else might sweep you off your feet." He flounced away and Joss smiled in spite of herself.

She downed the rest of her drink and ordered another. When it was poured, she grabbed her cane, grabbed her drink, and went for a walk outside. Her leg started to hurt so she sat down on a convenient crate. "Damn thing," she cursed, still hating how it held her back especially after all these years of being trapped behind a desk. She looked at the alley, remembering how her youth, her Don and her Freddie had all managed to disappear that night. She grew more and more melancholy until she realized Nate's feelings just weren't worth it. She had to get the hell out of here. She knocked back her drink, slowly got up and turned back towards the disco's door, determined to find Nate, tell him goodbye and go the hell home.

"A beautiful lady such as yourself shouldn't be alone in a dark alley like this one," a voice in the alley informed her. "Bad things happen in this alley."

"Great, now I've lost my mind," Joss muttered, not bothering to turn around. The voice was Freddie's voice, but Joss knew she couldn't be back there. Her mind had just finally taken its leave. She limped toward the door, but before she made it, a hand caught hers.

_**The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia**_

"Um, Cap?" came a voice from the general direction of his door, and Captain Lee Jackson of the Atlanta police department looked up from the case file he was going over.

"What is it, Detective?" he asked.

"Um, there's an old lady out here who says she wants to give a statement about a murder," the detective answered.

"So, take it," the Captain told him.

"Um, well, see, that's the problem," the detective admitted. "She refuses to give the statement to anyone but the highest ranking officer and she won't leave, either. She's been here for almost eight hours."

"Eight hours?" Captain Jackson questioned. The detective nodded. The Captain grimaced and put down his paperwork, debating on what to do. "Okay, send her in, I guess," he sighed. "I'll see if she's on the level, and if not, I'll call Psych Services."

"Will do, Cap," the detective said quickly, relieved that the cantankerous old woman would soon be out of his hair. He went back to the waiting room and collected the woman, escorting her to the Captain's office and dropping her off with what could only be described as glee.

"Come in," Captain Jackson requested as a polite knock could be heard at the door. The door opened and a white-haired older lady came into his office. The police captain could see right away that this one was what could be termed "feisty"; her stride was strong, as was her handshake and the appraising look she gave him.

"_You_ are Captain Jackson?" she asked, in a silky smooth Southern drawl that betrayed a rural upbringing.

Captain Jackson frowned, a little put-off by the insinuation he heard in her voice. "Yes," he said shortly. "Is there a problem?" he asked pointedly, knowing his skin color might be a problem to an older Southern white lady.

"Well, there would have been had you been white," she replied frankly. "Every white police officer I ever knew was nothing but a pile of corruption from his head to his clodhoppers. And ever since my brother was hung for a murder he did not commit, I've stayed as far from the law as I can."

"Then why are you here?" Captain Jackson asked, his mind still processing her odd statement. "And why did you have to talk to me?"

"I'm dyin', sir," she answered. "And I need to tell someone what happened to my brother before I call it quits for good. I came here because I was hopin' you would listen to me and maybe even believe me so that my brother could finally get some justice. That'd never happen in my backwater county. I needed to talk to _you_ because I need someone with the power to help me."

The Captain scrutinized her briefly before making up his mind and opening a drawer on his desk. He pulled out his notebook, flipped it open and grabbed his pen. "I'm ready to take your statement whenever you're ready, Ms…" he trailed off, realizing he didn't know her name.

"Goshen," she finished for him. "My name's Sheila Goshen."

Creek County, Georgia, 50 years prior

Herbert Goshen shifted the pack on his back, glad to see Webb's bar coming into view just a little bit up the road. It had been a long walk to and from Candletop, but the harvest had been good, and he had picked enough and earned enough that he and his new wife Kimberly would be set for at least a good six months. That should give him time to get their farm up and running so that come next harvest, he wouldn't have to work any other person's field but his own. The bar inched closer and closer and Herb debated stopping in for a rest and a drink. He wanted to see his Kimberly more'n anything in the world, but he was exhausted and he decided that he should go in and sit for a spell before he collapsed onto the dirt road.

Ronald Andrew Stoppable Jr., who everyone called Andy on account of his daddy being Ronnie, was sitting in the bar when his best friend came in looking more tired than Andy could ever recall seeing him. Andy immediately raised his hand in greeting and Herb brightened, making his way over. Andy saw the smile and the air left his lungs so fast he felt he like he had been sucker-punched. He didn't deserve that smile; he had wronged Herb in most despicable way that a friend could, and now he only hoped he could do right by him. "Hullo, Herb," he said simply as Herb sat at his table, hoping to gather his thoughts before saying more.

"Hey there, Andy," Herb replied, holding out his hand for Andy to shake.

Andy didn't shake it, but instead indicated the chair beside him. "Sit down, Herb," he said. "I've got some bad news and it's gonna hurt."

"What are you on about, Andy?" Herb asked quizzically as he took a chair.

Andy ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "I'm best friend and you know that, right?" he asked. Herb nodded. "Well, I didn't want to be the one to tell you this, but your young bride ain't home tonight. Since you've been gone, she's seeing that Amos boy, Seth."

Herb looked at him, and rage descended on his features so quickly that Andy swallowed reflexively in fear. Aware that he was dealing with a large muscular man who was undoubtedly seeing red, Andy did his best to comfort him. "Now boy," he said soothingly. "Don't you lose your head." With Herb this mad, Andy really should have thought twice about telling Herb what he needed to tell him, namely that he, like Seth, had "comforted" Kimberly in Herb's absence, but Andy was never the sharpest knife in the drawer, in fact he was one of the dullest, and he made his confession anyway. "It's not like it was just Seth; to tell you the truth, I've been with her myself," he said quietly.

Herb didn't say or do anything, and that was almost worse for Andy. He was hoping that Herb would attack him; lord knew he deserved it, and a good beating would have done his already battered conscience good. But Herb just sat there, his face set in quiet rage, and finally Andy got scared and left the bar. Herb watched him go, took a deep breath to make sure he could still breathe and got up. Everyone in the bar watched him, including his sister Sheila, and their stares made Herb even angrier. There was sympathy in everyone's countenance, meaning everyone knew but him what kind of woman his wife was, and that meant he was as stupid as Andy. He left and stalked out of the bar.

Andy walked quickly, nervously looking around he did so. He was thankful that he didn't live far. Herb was mad, and of course Andy understood why, but he had never seen Herb that mad at it frightened the hell out of him. His house and then his front door came into view and Andy breathed a sigh of relief. He opened his unlocked front door, and after he had closed it behind him, for the first time he could ever recall, he locked it. Feeling a little more secure, he went through the living room to the kitchen intent on fixing himself a mess of something to eat.

He opened up the pantry and rustled stuff around, searching for something that wasn't canned beans. A noise caught his attention, so he looked up and turned around to find a shotgun inches from his face and aimed right between his eyes. His heart stopped in fear, and he realized with a sinking feeling that he had neglected to lock the back door that led from the back porch to the kitchen.

"H-herb?" he stuttered.

"No," came the terse response, and Andy got a better look.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" he asked, still terrified of the gun.

"I came to ask you a question," his guest informed him. The shotgun cocked and a finger moved to the trigger. "Did you or did you not have relations with Kimberly Goshen?"

"N-no," Andy lied, hoping it would save him.

It didn't. "Wrong answer, you lyin' son of a bitch," the intruder snarled. Andy swallowed and in a moment of self-preservation-induced clarity, made a break for the back porch. He made it as far as the screen on the back porch door before the shotgun went off and he fell down dead on his own porch with two rounds in his back.

Herb stormed down the road, the two miles that separated Webb's from his and Kim's house passing in a blur of fury. There was no way some goddamn woman and an idiot were going to make a fool out him. He threw open the front door and bellowed for his "bride". "Kimberly! You lyin' harlot. Get your ass out here! Now!" he commanded. A few moments passed and no one came out. "Don't you dare try to hide from me, girl!" he warned as he started to tear through the rooms. He turned the place upside down but he found no trace of Kim, and as he calmed down just a little, he realized that none of her clothes were there either. "Well, I guess she was smart enough to leave town," he decided. He went back into the bedroom and after some searching sound the only Poppa had left him: a gun. He may not have been able to find his wife, but Andy still deserved his comeuppance and Seth would be next.

There was a wooded area between his and Kim's house and Andy's house, and as good of friends as he and Andy were, a well-worn path existed between their back doors. Herb avoided it, however, preferring to slip through the backwoods quiet as a mouse. As he stole through the woods, he noticed that someone else had taken this path. Branches were broken, and as he came closer to Andy's backyard, he came upon some tracks too small for Andy to make. Seeing the tracks were fresh, he looked around suspiciously, trying to see who might be out there. He saw nary a soul, so he continued on to Andy's house.

As he got closer, he looked through the screen on the back porch door, and there, in a puddle of blood, he saw Andy lying on the floor. Gripped with fear and shock at the sight of his friend lying dead with two shotgun blasts in his back, he began to shake, and hearing the Georgia patrol making their rounds, he fired a couple of shots into the air to flag them down. In his panicked state, he wasn't thinking clearly, and the thought that standing near a body with a gun might be the tiniest bit incriminating didn't cross his mind.

The patrol car stopped in front of Andy's house and the portly Sheriff Director, along with Deputy William Doo, came 'round the house to stand beside Herb just outside the back porch. Sheriff Director peered through the screen and after seeing what was on the back porch, sighed. He grabbed Herb's shotgun. "Why'd the hell did you do it, Herb," he asked in dismay. "Everyone in town has been with that loose wife of yours at one time or another. Why'd you have to kill poor stupid Andy?"

"But I didn't kill him," Herb protested. "He was already dead when I got here."

"And I'm Eleanor Roosevelt," the Sheriff retorted. "The muzzle's still warm and we both heard the shotgun blast. That's why we stopped here."

"I didn't kill him," Herb repeated. "I was just going to ask him what went on between him and my wife."

"Well, iffn it makes you feel any better, nothing," Sheriff Director told him. "Seth Amos is the one she was fornicating with. Andy just kissed her down at Webb's t'other night when he got drunk."

"Then why'd he tell me he'd been with her?" Herb demanded.

"Because Andy is too simple to know the difference and he probably thought he should be honest with his best friend. And you killed him for it," the Sheriff replied accusingly.

"But I didn't kill him!" Herb insisted for the third time.

"Tell it to the Judge, Goshen," Sheriff Director ordered as he put the cuffs on. He roughly pulled Herb by his cuffs and pushed into the back seat of the police car. He and Doo got in and he drove off, not noticing the figure watching all of the goings-on from the shadows of the trees.

"Guilty," the Judge said after Sheriff Director had finished giving his deposition, and Herb's backwoods Southern lawyer said nary a word.

"But your Honor…" Herb began, but Judge James Timothy Possible cut him off.

"The evidence is unassailable, Mr. Goshen, and as such, it is crystal clear that you killed Andy," Judge Possible stated. "I don't need to hear anything further about the case." He paused and let his hatred of the son of a bitch that he had never wanted his precious baby girl to marry come through in his voice. "I sentence you, Herbert Archibald Goshen to be hung by the neck until dead, and may God have mercy on your soul." He came down from the bench and slapped his brother -in-law on the back. "I've got to get home. Ann's got supper waiting for me and I've got to get to it." He smiled at Herb, and Herb shivered at the vitriol and triumph behind it.

"You heard the man, Goshen," Sheriff Director said, pleased with the verdict. "Let's get a move on," he ordered, pulling on his cuffs.

Atlanta, Present Day

"Well, they hung my brother before I could say that the tracks he saw in the back of Andy's house that night were mine," Sheila concluded. "So you see, sir, Herb didn't kill nobody. I did it, and he swung for it."

The Captain put his notebook on the desk, glanced at it and then looked Sheila. He raised an eyebrow and finally spoke. "That is quite a story, ma'am," he allowed, then said what was nagging him. "Just one thing bothers me, though. That seems like an awful lot of rage for a sister to carry on behalf of her brother. How long had you and Andy been an item before you killed him?"

Sheila smirked. By asking that question, the Captain had proven his worth and his skills to her, and now she would answer his questions. "I was never in love with Andy Stoppable," she replied matter-of-factly. "And I was never all that fond of my brother Herb, either. The man was one mean son-of-a-bitch. That don't mean he deserved to die for what I did, though."

The Captain pondered that. "Then if you weren't jealous of Andy or protecting your brother's honor, why in the world did you shoot Andy?" he asked, perplexed.

"Oh, I was jealous; make no mistake about that, sir," Sheila admitted. "But there is one other person is this little melodrama that you seem to be forgettin', and no, it ain't Seth Amos."

"But that just leaves your brother's wife, Kim," the Captain said slowly, after a moment's thought, and much to his surprise, Sheila's wry smirk came back.

"That it does," she agreed, and looked up at the Captain with defiance in her eyes. "And she was the only thing in my shitty little life that ever deserved any kind of devotion."

"Where is she?" Captain Jackson asked suddenly, having just remembered that he hadn't heard what had happened to her after the murder, trial and execution. "Did she leave town?"

"No," Sheila said quietly. "In spite of what Herb thought, she hadn't left town; she come to my place with all of her stuff, sayin' she wanted to run away with me."

"So what happened?" the Captain asked.

"Well, let's just say that little sister don't miss when she aims her gun," Sheila stated, and the all of the regret that Sheila had carried since that fateful night descended across her features.

Now, at last, Captain Jackson understood. This meeting wasn't about clearing up the details about a long ago murder, and in spite of what she had said at the beginning, it wasn't even about getting justice for a long-dead brother. It was about confessing to the only crime that she had ever truly been sorry for and the one she wished she could undo, the one where she had murdered the only person that by her own admission she had ever loved. Captain Jackson looked at her. A part of him wanted to disapprove; the woman had committed three murders and yet she was only sorry for the one that had caused her personal pain. But another part saw the suddenly broken-down and obviously dying old woman who had loved someone she wasn't supposed to, had lost that person by her own hand and had spent the last umpteen years paying for it even if she wasn't in jail. After debating with himself, he spoke. "Well, ma'am, I thank you for coming in to tell your story, and I can assure you that I will do all that I can to get your brother's name exonerated," he promised.

Sheila blinked. "Well, thank you kindly," she said, expecting him to say more. When nothing else was forthcoming, she spoke again, this time in a puzzled tone. "My apologies, sir, but aren't you going to arrest me?" she asked.

"No," Captain Jackson said, shaking his head unconcernedly. "From your demeanor, it seems to me that you have paid for your crimes, and besides, if I arrested you, I would get nothing but hate mail from people accusing me of arresting their Mee-maw."

In spite of the somber mood she was in, Sheila chuckled, finding humor in what she knew was a true statement. "You may be right, sir," she agreed. "And y'all have been so considerate to listen to the chatter of an old fool that I wouldn't want to visit any grief on your head." She got up and extended her hand and Captain Jackson did the same. She shook his hand with that same strong grip, inclined her head and then walked out of his office.

**Epilogue**

Shego looked up at the walls, satisfied in what she had accomplished. She glanced over at the kids and smiled when she saw that they had fallen asleep after their two hours of rowdy play. She closed the windows that she had opened for ventilation and walked over to the makeshift playpen to gently lift Ernie out of it. He sighed and put his head on her shoulder before falling back to sleep, and Shego rolled her eyes at how disgustingly domestic she had become before she opened the door and headed down the stairs. She found Monique and Kim in the kitchen and indicated the sleeping kid. Monique smiled. "I think this means we are ready to go," she said softly, and Kim smiled in agreement. Monique got up from the table, gave Kim a quick hug and then took her son from Shego. Shego went over to her wife and helped her up and all four of them went to the door. After Kim and Shego were satisfied that Monique and Ernie were settled into their car, Shego went back upstairs to retrieve their daughter, but by the time she had gotten back downstairs, Kim had managed to fall asleep on the couch. Shego shook her head and gently laid Annie beside her, smiling wryly when their baby girl snuggled into her mom and Kim put her arm around her. Not tired herself, she softly whistled for Chula and Anna, and after putting the clouded leopards on alert, went upstairs to get some more work done on the new baby's room.


End file.
